


Dinner and a Tummy Rub

by EmetoOmo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emetophilia, M/M, Sickfic, Stomach Ache, Stuffing, stomach bug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-31 01:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21040133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmetoOmo/pseuds/EmetoOmo
Summary: It’s their anniversary, and Hanzo has made a reservation at a local hibachi restaurant. McCree, not feeling well, buries it all to enjoy a wonderful anniversary dinner with his boyfriend.





	Dinner and a Tummy Rub

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous said to emeto-omo:  
I saw your post about McHanzo prompts, so I was wondering if you might be willing to write something where Hanzo takes Mcree out to eat. McCree’s stomach feels a little funny, but he doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to ruin anything, and food actually seems to help, so he winds up eating a lot, but then his stomach actually winds up extremely sick, and Hanzo has to rub it to help him burp and throw up and he’s just miserable the rest of the night because his stomach is so upset.
> 
> WARNING: Graphic depictions of vomiting ahead, and hints of emetophilia. Don't read if this isn't for you.

Hanzo Shimada was not one for anniversaries. Outside of his annual visit to his brother’s shrine, he really didn’t care much to observe any. Jesse McCree, however, _lived_ for them and it was on that premise that Hanzo found himself downstairs watching the clock, waiting on McCree to get ready and praying they didn’t miss their reservation.

“Now I’m ready,” McCree said, coming down the stairs with a shit eating grin on his face. The cowboy looked…well…pretty much like he always looked. Maybe a bit cleaner, and not wearing his usual shoulder draping. Definitely a bit rough, however, for their _formal_ dinner plans.

Hanzo stood in stark contrast to him in black slacks, a white pinstripe button up shirt, and a blue and dark grey vest. “You are wearing that?” Hanzo asked.

“What?” McCree asked, looking down at his clothes. “These are my lucky pants!”

“There are no less than three bullet holes in them. I would hardly call them lucky.” Hanzo sighed.

“I ain’t dead, am I?” McCree retorted, a winning grin on his lips.

Despite his usually stoic demeanor, Hanzo couldn’t help but to crack a half smirk. “Come then, before we are too late and they send us back home.”

“There’s always McDonalds…” McCree reminded him, following him out the door.

\----

The car ride over had unsettled McCree’s stomach, turning what had been a mild gnawing in the pit of his tummy all day had become more of a slow churn. Truth be told, he’d been so excited that Hanzo had made reservations, he’d avoided food just to be sure he would have room for dinner. Certainly some food would settle it some, right?

Hanzo wasn’t entirely into the Hibachi scene, a little too much show for his taste, but he knew that McCree got a big kick out of the theatrics. Though he had called it formal, it was truly Hanzo that was overdressed for the venue. A quiet table in the corner had been reserved for them…even after the manager had explain painstakingly that they didn’t do reservations for parties of two. It was nothing a little money couldn’t fix.

“Ya really went all out, Han,” McCree smirked, taking a seat and sitting his cowboy hat in the empty seat to the other side of him.

Hanzo sat and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows. “That is what you keep telling me anniversaries are for.” He said, a bit of mirth in his tone.

McCree took in his lover’s appearance, the way a few women across the room kept shooting flirty glances in his direction, giggling to each other. McCree chuckled, making Hanzo look up at him, clueless he was being eyeballed. “What?”

“Rollin up yer sleeves like that, yer givin’ off serious Daddy vibes.” McCree joked, barely able to say it with a straight face. He knew exactly how ridiculous he sounded, and it was all worth it to see the look on Hanzo’s face.

“Daddy…vibes?” He asked confused, a slight cant to his head.

“Yeah, ya know? Daddy vibes. Them…uh…Kristen Grey feels from that Grey movie.” McCree said, watching Hanzo die inside as he butchered that.

“…Christian Grey?”

“Ah! So ya _do_ watch those movies!” McCree said victorious. He had come down stairs one night a few months back and caught Hanzo on the couch watching 50 Shades of Grey, the archer _insisting_ that he had simple had indigestion and was merely dozing where he sat up…McCree was fairly sure he’d been pretty intent in watching it.

“You can spend this anniversary alone, I can go back home,” Hanzo said, crossing his arms, pink creeping across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

McCree only smiled all the more. “Na, it’s alright, I won’t dog on yer terrible movie taste. Ya watch my spaghetti westerns without complainin’,” he chuckled, the fun mood making him forget about the turmoil in his tummy.

Hanzo settled into a comfortable, faux broody silence, thankful when the chef came to their table to start the show. There had been no expense spared, and before they knew it, they were given a veritable smorgasbord of food before them. Not just the fried seafood, veggies, and steak from the hibachi, but an array of sushi, some Udon, and some of the most potent sake bombs.

It was truly enough for six people, but once they got started, they would slowly work through it. McCree found himself feeling better yet the more he ate, glad it was likely just the hunger that had upset his stomach before. Three sake bombs later, he couldn’t remember that it had bothered him at all. Hanzo had only taken one, knowing he needed to drive, but was happy to get more for his lover while they enjoyed their anniversary.

“Wanna feed me?” McCree asked, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, a flirty smirk on his lips as he pushed the last plate toward Hanzo.

“I think you are likely full enough,” Hanzo found himself smiling, amused.

“I am,” McCree said, rubbing his tummy, feeling it gurgle lightly beneath his fingers. “Ain’t that what you like?”

That blush returned on the archer’s cheeks, and he looked around to see if anyone had overheard. “Here? In the restaurant?”

“Where else?”

Hanzo sucked in a breath between his teeth, readjusting how he sat as he felt himself flush with heat. He grabbed his chopsticks and began to feed the rest of it to McCree, being generous enough to let him stop to get some water to help wash it all down. McCree met Hanzo’s dark eyes as he took the shrimp, steak, veggies, whatever Hanzo would bring to his lips. “I’m so full.”

“Just a little more,” Hanzo whispered, a tenderness to his tone. “You know you have to make it home. There isn’t enough room in their restrooms here for—”

“I know, I can do it,” McCree smirked at him.

Hanzo smiled, handing him the remainder of his own Udon bowl, and instructed him to finish it off while he headed to pay the check. McCree took it in hand and began to finish it, chewing meticulously slow to make sure he could get it down.

While he waited for change, Hanzo glanced back at the table just in time to see McCree’s shoulders lurch some, a gag coming up unexpectedly as he quickly recovered. Hanzo’s heart fluttered in his chest, warm and tingling all over. He needed to get him home.

\---

“Han…” McCree whined as they pulled into the driveway, the car jerking some as it pulled in.

“You made it this far,” Hanzo said tenderly, already unbuckling both of their seatbelts once he put the car in park. McCree hiccupped softly, sucking in a quick breath of air as the pressure of the belt was released from his stomach, a weak belch coming up without warning.

The archer came around to his side to help him get his door open. McCree’s mouth was watering some, and for several moments, he sat with his head between his knees hanging just over the payment while he still remained in the seat, waiting and willing the vomit to come up. “Not yet.” Hanzo whispered in his ear.

McCree whined softly but took his lover’s hand letting him help him to his feet, and ultimately back within the house. He breathed swallowed thickly as they got across the threshold, his stomach audibly gurgling, painful in its bloating. “I feel so sick.”

“I am surprised. It was a lot, but not the most we’ve done,” Hanzo said softly, crouching to help McCree out of his boots.

“I was…feelin’ sick before we left,” McCree admitted, trying to force a burp, but aborting it once it put up too much of a resistance.

Hanzo looked up. “We could have stayed home.”

McCree gave him a true, albeit miserable smiled, reaching down to release Hanzo’s hair from the bun it was in. “And miss seein’ ya flush knowin’ how sick I feel now? Nah.”

Hanzo could only smile, and reached up to unbuckle McCree’s belt, helping him out of his pants there in the entryway still. As the cowboy stepped out of his pants, Hanzo reached up to run his hand over the swell of McCree’s stomach. _Rrrrruuuuuuuuurrrrrhrrrggggllllll.._ his stomach audibly whined, the bubbles streaming beneath the flesh under his touch.

“God…” McCree moaned miserably, putting his hat on the hook and moving to unbutton his shirt. He just wanted free of it all, the nausea causing anxiety to climb.

“Shhh, I am here,” Hanzo whispered, kissing his tummy lightly, and standing once more, moved to help McCree over onto the couch.

“Shouldn’t…we go to the bathroom?” McCree worried, not arguing however as Hanzo helped him setting down into the soft cushions.

“I will get the trash can. No reason for you to be more uncomfortable than need be.”

McCree settled back, closing his eyes with a groan. His poor tummy felt like it was a ship adrift on the open seas, roiling to the whims of a summer storm. Just the idea of rough waters made McCree’s mouth water again, and he pressed the back of his hand against his lips, trying to hold back the flood til Hanzo returned.

It was barely a minute when he returned with a small, plastic trash can lined with a plastic shopping sack from the last time they grabbed groceries. Immediately McCree pitched forward to spit the bitterness from his lips, shuddering and giving a weak gag at the stringiness of it.

Hanzo sat and rubbed his back. “Relax. You can let it up.” He said gently, grabbing the remote to turn on one of McCree’s westerns for background noise.

Several minutes passed, filled with groaning and whining from his stomach, the bloating so painful it was almost unbearable. He squirmed uncomfortably, liquid sloshing audibly with every move, but no matter how much he willed and spit, and tried to strain a belch…nothing came up. He had broken out in a cold sweat now, and Hanzo could only watch on with a frown.

“Do you want me to rub it?” He asked softly, still in that scion-esque formal outfit. His only concern was for McCree, not worried about putting wrinkles into his expensive clothes.

McCree nodded pitifully. “Please…” he begged.

Hanzo’s hand rested firm on his stomach, just adding to McCree’s discomfort, even as he began to rub in slow circles. Once he found the bubbles, he chased them, trying to rub them away only to force a loud, wet and gurgling belch from McCree’s lips. “Mm, god..” he groaned miserably.

“Better?” Hanzo asked.

“K-keep going.”

Hanzo pressed a little harder, eliciting another longer belch from McCree, ending with a definite wetness as he spat brown bile into the trash can. He could feel it in his throat, growing like a pressure geyser, and opened his mouth. He let the drool pool and spill from his lips in a long string, his eyes watering some as he felt it burn on the back of his tongue. God, why wouldn’t it just come out?

He let his hand fall wet upon Hanzo’s and pressed in and up hard, instantly making a choking sound as he pitched forward and expelling a small gush of vomit into the trash. “There you go, let it happen.” Hanzo said comfortingly, taking upon himself to press again, forcing up a large air pocket as a burp, only for it to end in a more forceful wave of puke.

McCree was shaking now as his body took the hint, barely giving him a moment for breath before he gagged hard enough it sprayed out of mouth and nose both, and forcing viscous chunks of udon noodles and veggies to spray over the lip of the trash can and onto his lap and the floor. His veins in his neck strained as he gurgled another bunch of tangled noodles up, causing him to choke mid gag, and expel them further onto the coffee table.

Hanzo didn’t make any comment on it, just rubbing McCree’s back with one hand while the other rubbed his stomach. “I’m so sick…” McCree whispered, getting a break finally to catch his breath.

“Not feeling any relief?” Hanzo asked him, kissing his temple. “You feel warm.”

“I feel worse…if…urk….hurrrrrrrrrkkkkk.” He dry heaved loudly, gripping the trash can again. Another painful dry heave tore through on the tail of that one, and he spat a little blood in the trash from the strain.

“Bathroom. Perhaps a better angle will help,” Hanzo whispered, getting up and helping him carry the trash can. They were in for a long night.

-Fin


End file.
